Month

February 2016

It’s been a while since I did something off the cuff, so I thought why not do some obvious clickbait haha.

As an Englishman it’s fair to say I couldn’t give a flying faggot who america elects as its chief whipping boy, but I have opinions, you all know this and I have a blog, as you can see. So in the word of my ancestors “Tallyho!”.

Ok first things first I like Trump, ok well like is a strong word, he’s the only presidential candidate that makes me not want to swallow my tongue. He’s a douche canoe, but he’s an entertaining douchcanoe, he’s funny, he doesn’t take himself too seriously and he says whatever he wants. He pisses off feminists and sjw and radical commie lefties and if that’s not reason enough to vote for him, I don’t know what is.
I’d vote for Ghengkis Khan if it meant triggering some politically correct mouthbreather. And if they all move to canada or cuba if they’re more socialist inclined then that sounds ok to me haha.
I’ve had a lot of fun arguing with people complaining about Trump, mainly Bernie supporters because they’re so fun to troll. I haven’t come in contact with any Trump supporters who weren’t in fact trolls haha. People calling him racist/sexist whatever, that’s pretty much what the left does when they’re afraid of a right wing candidate. Just call him names trying to make them stick, it doesn’t have to be true, it just has to stick and it has in their circles but that’s preaching to the choir. Trump himself seems to be teflon coat, he just doesn’t seem to give a shit, he just says words and people seem to like that haha.
So bottomline has Trump said anything racist?
Most of the time when people call him racist it’s in regards to his sentiments about illegal immigrants and muslims. He wants to keep the immigrants and the muslims out, two groups that are not in fact races. Immigrants and muslims both can be any race, Trump himself is from an immigrant background as is the majority of america.
But people casually miss out one word ‘Illegal’ Trumps family and my family too were legal Immigrants. Illegal immigrants are breaking the law, it’s in the name, so they’re criminals. Trump is essentially saying he wants to keep criminals out of america, which as political policies go is fairly unremarkable.

The muslim issue is murkier but I like to use the feminist argument about men, wherein say you have a bag full of M&Ms and you know around 10% or even just 1% are poisonous and will kill you, how many handfuls do you take? The answer is none. That’s the problem with islamic migration, it’s not a race, it’s an ideology, not of peace but of conquest. They don’t want to become part of western society, they want to dominate it and erode it and replace it with a 14th century folklore.

Is he sexist? Well who isn’t these days, a man farts in an elevator and he’s sexist now, so who the hell can make a judgement on that?

The amount of propaganda flying around my facebook page is just astonishing. The most insipid I have to say is for Bernie, coming from someone who is impartial, I have no dog in the fight. The only reason I want Trump to win is for the hilarity of it and the butthurt of Bernie and Hillary supporters alike.

I just think Bernie supporters are one coolaid away from tattooing Bernie onto their… wait what? They already got Bernie tattooed on their asses? But he hasn’t even won the primaries yet, wow that is culty.

From the outside Bernie supporters do look like a cult, Hillary supporters, I don’t hear much from, the only one I know of is Gloria Steinem who is voting for her because they both have vaginas (Although Bernie did just say Gloria Steinem made him an honorary woman but now she says women who support Bernie only do it for attention) and Lena Dunham who also likes people who share the experience of having a vagina.

Despite that most people, the most cynical people think she’s going to win because Washington is corrupt and people are dumb and want to score social justice bingo points for having the first woman president regardless of what a lying sack of shit she is.
Bernie seems like an ok dude, a harmless old codger but do I think he can deliver on his promises? Do I think he can even remember the promises he’s made before the onset of alztheimers?
His promises are just too bold and they’re just that, promises. Newsflash politicians lie and this guy is a career politician. He seems like a sweet old man and he may be but that doesn’t mean he’s not just gonna say whatever shit gets him elected, it’s what they all do. He’s banking on the student and young people vote but we all know that doesn’t end well.
But his following is rabid, I saw a post the other day where he stopped a speech to check on some person in his entourage that fell over for some reason. All he did was go over to the guy and see if he was ok the caption on the I think it was either occupy democrats or usuncut one of those hyper liberal propaganda bullhorns. The caption on the video was one word ‘Hero’ for just going over and having a look, I mean I burst out in tears laughing. It’s just hilarious the amount of people who are sucking this guys dick and how hard they try to reach his balls going down on it. His following has to be the most annoying in living memory. And that’s not to say anything on his policies. They sound ok if a little naive. but that pretty much sums up his entire movement, people who think this old fart is going to rain skittles from the sky if he wins, replace all the drinking fountains with doctor pepper.

Ok back to Trump, why do I think he’s so popular?
He’s an ex reality tv star, need I say more? This is the age where reality and entertainment meshed almost indistinguishably. Is it any wonder America wants a living meme as a president? I mean what does a president even really do? Why does a democratic country need one leader when everything is decided by a committee defeating the purpose of one leader? They’re just a figure head, they’re a symbol, like batman, (Well maybe not in russia but that’s a different story) they do nothing more than represent America and who honestly, really represents America? Some old codger, Shillary of wallstreet or An ex reality star who just says the first insane thing that rolls out of his wacky head? A crazy billionaire twin of Boris Johnson looney toon who pisses everyone off and doesn’t give a fuck? I think of America and Trump is the first thing I think of haha.

Either way this election is going to be hilarious, if Bernie wins all his supporters are happy for about a year before they turn on him like they did Obama when he didn’t close gitmo. If Hillary wins that should be pretty funny, she’ll probably change the washing monument to a lifesize model of her 50ft cunt. Anf If Trump wins that could be the funniest thing to happen to the earth haha.

The smell of sweat and blood and tears, the sound bare of feet on a concrete floor. Soft flesh and bone colliding. A loud chorus of people shouting and smoking and drinking. The smell of motor oil and leather hanging in the stale air. A group of people were huddled around two half naked men knocking the shit out of each other.

“Where the fuck is Bernie?” Mojang hissed as he reclined on a large broken office chair with a large back. The wheels and stand of which were broken off and he just sat on it as it sat on the floor like a low throne. A sexy biker chick in her underwear straddled him as he slouched back into the chair.

She leant over him with a needle and a trail of dental floss. She delicately sewed up what was left of his eye “Keep still baby”. She said as she pressed her slinky tattooed flesh against his.

Mojang had set himself up in a garage on the far side of town as his base. The smell of motor oil and the tools and spare parts clanging put his mind at ease.

He’d holed up in the dilapidated office and the rest of his crew were getting lit on the garage floor. They took out a couple of scrappy survivors they picked up on their day raiding and set up a little fight club.

There was a ring of drunken bikers on the concrete floor of the shop. They surrounded a skinny office clerk. As he pounded the cartilage of a fat barista against the concrete floor. Until a satisfying greasy wet snapping sound cut a swathe through the loud drunken crowd. The clerk pounded his sweaty mitts into the stubbly fat face of the barista against the grey concrete. Hot wet slapping sounds of meat and bone colliding on the cold wet floor. Rivulets of muddy crimson blood that would make Jackson Polluck cry manly tears. Until he stopped shaking and a viscous red bile started pouring from his nose and mouth.

“We got a winner!” A hairy biker in a leather waistcoat picked up the dazed skinny office clerk up by his skinny slick wrist. Propping him up with his other hand under his armpit wrapping around his chest. The office clerk; almost conscious, panted out a relieved smile just to be alive and to be called a winner. Feeling like he was on top of an anthill as his eyes rolled back in his skull.

Bernie watched from a darkened corner as they took the ‘winner’. They threw his almost lifeless skinny body in the net of half dead twitching corpses. Laughing as they did it.

Bernie perched in the corner next to an old payphone bolted to the wall. He rested the receiver against his ear speaking soft. “I hear you, tomorrow, can’t wait.” He tried to hold a smile back tightening his face as he looked about the dim garage. Lit only by unwieldy camp fires and generator operated standing lights. Hanging up the phone with a tight satisfying clicking sound.

As the crowd got a little quieter, coming down off that wave of excitement. Bernie could hear his name being hoarsely shouted “Bernie! Get your fat jew ass in here!”

Bernie unfolded his arms and sighed with an icey aggression. His eyes dipping out of frustration peeling himself off the cold concrete wall of the garage.

He popped the door of the office open. It was one of those thin plastic doors you afraid to yank right off. He stuck his head around the door like a temp. “You call me?”

“Take a seat.” Mojang said through the girl still straddling him sewing up his eye. He didn’t move from his seated position.

“There isn’t another chair in here”

“Then stand” Mojang said as he moved the half naked girl of his crotch. “Two minutes”.

The girl trounced out of the small office. She dragged a feminine two day old musk behind her as she shut the door with a definitive bang.

“Was there something?” Bernie said as he turned around looking at the closed door, his eyes careless.

“How does it look?” Mojang speaking to a bike rear view mirror he held up in front of his face. He tilted it down revealing his sewn up eye. It was swollen and bloody, it looked like there was a red baseball stuck in his skull.

“Like shit”

“You talk to him? The man? He called you?” Mojang reclined in the seat and tilted his head to one side.

“Yeah I talked to him”

“You didn’t call me”

“You were busy”

“Uh huh, well what does he want? Do they have the scores?” Mojang seethed, his eyes scanning every inch of Bernie as he sat in his relaxed position.

“Err, yeah but that’s not why he called. Said there’s gonna be a drop. Not even a block away, good shit” Bernie said grinning and rubbing his stubbly face.

“’Good shit’ huh? Ok. We’ll take it, tomorrow. This whole town is gonna burn. That fatboy and his bitch included”.

“I heard about that, some kid did that to your face”

“You heard about it huh? From who? The man?”

“Around” Bernie snorted as he pulled out a candy bar from his pocket and began noisily opening it. “Some pudgy twelve year old fucks you up, people talk about.” He smiled as he took a bite out of the candy bar. Strings of caramel and nougat dangling on his bottom lip as he chewed and snorted.

“Uh huh, yeah it’s pretty fucking funny.” Mojang hopped out of his seat from his almost comatose angle. He stood a good foot over Bernie as he munched the candy bar obnoxiously.

“You gotta see the funny side, you lose an eye, you still got another one. We’ll get him tomorrow, his bitch too, you’ll see, you want a bite?” Bernie snuffled with the candy bar in his mouth. He smiled breaking off a piece and offered it to Mojang as he closed in on him.

“Yeah we will” Mojang said. A vicious smile stitched on his face as he clutched Bernie by his jaw. Forcing him against the chip board walls of the small office with a dull thud. Snatching the candy bar out of Bernie’s hand he forced it into his gaping face. Wiping it all over with a forceful hand. His neck snapping back painfully spitting out the wrapper. He groaned as Mojang delivered a powerful uppercut under his ribs. He slid down the wall stunned by the sudden controlled burst of aggression. “Now get the fuck out of here”.

~

If you liked the excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest and the preceding chapters in order.

There’s no way to describe this other than as a very raw and personal microfiction that would undoubtedly make an interesting start or an end to a story.
It’s well written and shows an evolution of style and it evokes a wonder in the reader due to the sheer lack of context, the mind is sent reeling to fill in the blanks.
Almost torturous in it’s brevity, I hold out hope for closure.

On the 10th of November, 2015, I submitted the first page of my debut novel, Nescada: Kindler of Flames for critique by the 2014 David Gemmell Legend Award winner, Mark Lawrence. He is a lovely human and a powerful author. It was an honour. Hereis the page and what he had to say.

The critique came down to this: Be less indulgent and more specific, allow the character’s present experiences to tell the story rather than my often tangential authorial voice, pique questions for quality reader engagement, and create tension and characters the reader cares about from the first.

With this in mind, I penned the following piece of prose, inspired by a lovely image I had come across over the internet and was going to use in an informal flash fan fiction series here in my journal. Much gratitude to Mark for this newfound voice and direction of my writing … Enjoy 🙂

‘A…

Yo humanoid followers of this blog, been down with work and other various forms of illnesses. But I have the latest fully edited chapter of Green Sunday ready for your viewing pleasure. As opposed to your agonized clawing through my many heresies against grammar and spelling.

As usual this is just an excerpt and I have the full chapter up on inkitt because you can’t copy and paste on that site haha. I know I’m that paranoid. It’s a good site, my girlfriend loathes it for all the nepotism but that’s the name of the game unfortunately, what can you do?

Anyway, here’s the link to the latest chapter all suited and booted; Step Right Up.

~

“I despise your killing, and raping.”

“You’re… despicable.”

“Are you my judge?”

“It’s just… you should be punished.”

“I’m going to chop off your arm, so are you ready?”

TJ sat on his bed, half-watching a kung fu movie, trying to learn kung fu from osmosis. He polished his sword, checking for minor imperfections left by the douche in the knife shop, before wiping it off. He lovingly slid it back into the sheath and placed it in a red trunk at the bottom of his bed.

TJ’s bedroom was the standard, unashamed man-child room every man secretly desired, but had had taken away from them at some point by age or shame or usually a woman. TJ seemed immune to all. He was happy to like the things he’d loved all his life, with only a slight sour tinge of regret rolling around on his tongue before he swallowed it down with some mountain dew.

His room was a boxy affair in a reasonably-sized two storey house. He had chosen the room when he was a kid because it had one of those cool sloping roofs. It had a little skylight window that let in all the moonlight. And he could put posters on it too.

Movie and anime posters adorned the walls in no particular order from Dragonball Z, in pride of place above his TV and PS4, to Cowboy Bebop, over his bed, the one where Faye Valentine had her ass facing out in those little yellow hot pants. Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood, Samurai Champloo and Attack on Titan and Berserk. His door hid a cute, pink Elfen Lied calendar that was way out of date. He had a Gantz wall hanging on the wall behind his desktop monitor that his mother sneered at. The tight black uniforms looked sort of ‘bondagey,’ she commented once, to which TJ, red of cheek, informed her that this wasn’t the case and it was his room and she should always knock before entering.

Then you had the zombie-related paraphernalia. You had your Walking Dead shirts and cap; Evil Dead bobble heads, which made various chainsaw noises and spouted the relevant catchphrases when tapped; original Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead posters, both signed by the Tom Savini; a Return of the Living Dead tarman ‘action figure’; Return of the Living Dead 3 playing cards; Shaun of the Dead air freshener; Zombies on a Plane travel sweets. You get the picture; ‘nerd likes zombies trope’.

His real pride and joy lay dormant in the red trunk: an assorted collection of crappy fantasy knives and cheap knock off kung fu weapons that he had picked up at various flea markets and gun shows that rolled through town. He didn’t get much of an allowance to splash out on any one piece, or even a reasonably priced but painfully drab, cold, steel machete. And the thought of working some nine to five job just to buy something better seemed antithetical in a world that he believed would be all teeth and rotten flesh by the end of the year.

So he just picked up what he liked the look of, not really knowing what he wanted or what he wanted them for. They were all tacky wall hangers. His mother wouldn’t let him hang them on his wall though because they made him look like a ‘weirdo’. There they remained in that box under his bed, ready to be viewed with a satisfied smile as soon as he looked inside his little man-crate full of toys. When he closed it, he felt a hollow, little thud inside and felt maudlin. He stared at the bluing sky as night crawled out of the caves and crags to blanket the horizon.

TJ’s house was in a secluded part of town. The town itself was rural and mountainous, a small town lined by high trees and cliffs with a whole lot of nothing in between. Think Twin Peaks meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Nightmarish small town America in all its horrible banality and tremulous quiet beauty. Only ruined by its noisy stereotypical inhabitants.

He took to staring off into the trees, trying to imagine hordes of his dead Facebook friends tearing through the undergrowth, and himself savagely cutting after them, sword flashing above his head like a Hun on heat. Then he started to think about them, their frozen stock photo faces, twisted and rotten, coming at him through the trees. And it was real for a second and he wanted nothing more than to buy a big gun and hide under his window, drinking and peeing in the same bottle, Waterworld-style, for fear of moving. It came in waves and he settled back into his fantasy, comfortable at the thought that it was an unlikely occurrence. But he also wanted nothing more than to have his mundane existence upended by throngs of the flesh-nibblingly inclined.

Well what little existence there was he thought to himself as he stared off into those dark esoteric woods. If only they’d come then he could be who he wanted to be.

~

I hope you enjoyed it if you read this far, as usual here’s the link again to my inkitt page where you can read this chapter and more completely free.

Latest chapter of GS proofread, as usual rough as shit, still having it edited, I should have chapter 3 back by next week. So hold your breath for that haha.As usual you can check out the rest of the chapter on inkitt, which I will link to at the top and bottom. I do that because you can’t copy and paste any of that and it’s easier to read on tablets and stuff and you can read it in order.

“There he is!” Dave said as he pointed over his Sikh billionaire boss’s shoulder. Standing erect with a pair of expensive looking binoculars.

“You littal cant!” Pete said as he cranked the pressure gauge in his custom air arrow launcher. He narrowed his eyes to keep track of a wiley moving target.

The scope flitted around trying to keep track of ragged green form as it darted from cover to cover dipping. “Keep still you little barstard!” Pete spat.

“Think you can outrun me you little facka!”

“He’s over there!” Dave screeched as he leaned on the raised lip of the gunstore roof.

Pete tried to steady his breathing as he tunnelled his vision down the scope of the rifle. He tried to hone his concentration on this vagrant target eluding his gaze. A quick flicker of light and a sharp piercing feeling of murderous intent. Pete was sent reeling off his makeshift perch on the roof.

“What was that” Dave said.

Pete looked over himself patting down for injuries “Something came right at me”. Pete readied himself again at his perch. “There!” Dave screamed. A lithe figure slipped through a gap in a wall of milling living corpses. Completely oblivious to this quick witted sewer rat of a man breezing past them.

“You fuckin what!’” Pete said as he gritted his teeth pulling hard on the trigger of the arrow launcher. A quick bolt and satisfying release of pressure. An arrow was thrust into the crowd as the figure disappeared.

“Did you get ‘im?” Dave said.

“I dunno” Pete said as he lifted the rifle up and rested it against the wall.

“Who the fuck was that?” Dave said standing in an awkward pose. Feeling a little buzzed and drained from the excitement. As if for a fleeting moment the shoe was on the other foot. He glanced back over to the spot the cornered animal was last seen with his binoculars. he had to catch his breath despite not having moved an inch. “Hah does that one kinda look like Burt Reynolds to you?” he said as he looked out over the shambling corpses on the other side of the street.

“Another c’ant like us, I reckon. Didn’t get a good look at ‘im.” Pete said as he leant against the lip of the roof. He took out a hunting pipe and filled it with tobacco. He lit it and took some measured pulls on the horn lip piece with a faraway look on his face. Listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. As he put pressure on the wall, the other side cracked a little and little pieces of mortar and brick crumbled. Following the cracks in the what was now seen as a hastily and shoddily built raised wall around the roof. The owner probably used for his own late night target practice. Lodged a good four or five inches into the mortar was a shiney and very sharp looking butterfly knife

~

A sickly light trickled through the gaps in the shutters of an upmarket house on the more affluent side of town. The house was still and looked vacant in the bluing light of the evening. The night on its way bringing a much needed stillness to the ‘busy’ town. The house was old looking, reminiscent of some older new England town houses. A two storey affair made of retouched white wood and roofed with grey tiles. The windows were partitioned with the same white wood. All with drawn curtains and shutters.

Inside the house a deathly cold gripped the anterooms and the hall. A musty smell the owners must have gotten used to living in such an old house permeated the rooms. And the floorboards creaked like an old haunted house.

The stairs were fairly grand, made of an elegant hardwood. Leaving them cold as century old bone to the touch. The faded blue light gave them a dreamlike quality, still as if out of time entirely. Like the whole house were some sort of display or diorama meant for looking but not touching.

Nevertheless something was living there. Something stirred in the dull blue light that probed the dank house. Little feet slapped the icy staircase as they descended the large steps. Creating the slightest creaking noises on the old steps.

A little girl, maybe five or six in a frilly night gown descended the stairs like a ghost. She held a stuffed iguana close to her little chest. She peered into the inky blue stillness of her home and saw a spark of light. There was a warm glow building in the furthest corner of her house. Followed by whispers and hissing sounds through gritted teeth and a strange smell.

She tiptoed down the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible. As she got closer the angered hissing noises continued. She could hear a few choice words and laboured breathing as she approached the light source.

The light was coming from her living room. A small fire stoked in the old wood burning fireplace. There was a man sat down in front of the fire talking to himself angrily.

“I’ll get you, you asshole, you just wait, I know where you are! I’ll get you and I’ll-ergh!“ The man muttered to himself as he nursed a wound in his shoulder. A bloody arrow tossed on the hardwood floor by the fireside. He sat on a large green army coat in front of the fire rocking back and forth like caged animal. A blood stained kitchen knife clutched in his hand as he held his arm, pressing it against himself.

“Santa is that you?” The little girl said as she saw his scraggly beard and long hair. “It’s a little early, where are all the presents?”

“Presents?” Carpenter said furrowing his brow in a confused daze. Caught off guard by the little girl in her pyjamas, he gripped the knife tighter. “I don’t have any presents”

“Oh” The girl said, taking it surprisingly well. “Well could you help me?” She said as she tightened her face a little. “My mommy and daddy are sick” Her voice raising slightly at the end catching herself.

“Shhhhh” Carpenter said as he smiled and put his finger up to his mouth. “Take me to them” He smiled broadly exposing his yellowed teeth. “Santa has something for them” He said as he stood up shakily, sliding the knife underneath his belt.

~

If you like what you read so far of this excerpt go check out the full chapter on inkitt completely free.

I did a little review for this twist on a classic fairy tale, like long kiss goodnight meets happily ever after.

“Fairytale with overtones of the count of monte christo. I found this really enjoyable. I’m a big fan of murder mystery and crime thrillers, you caught me in the middle of reading the Dexter series by Jeff Lindsay back to back, I just finished the sixth book. I mention that because I imagine I had the same look on my face reading that as I did reading this.
I often criticise stories for having very uneventful first chapters, lots of people like to play it close to the chest the first chapter. Failing to realise that the first chapter is the first impression and is almost a synopsis of what someone can expect from the entire story. This first chapter did not fail my expectations.
Great start, sticking with the fairy tale elements, gradual subtle foreshadowing, a crawling sense of dread and just uneasiness creeping in as if happily ever after is moment to moment. Tragedy just around the corner turning a comedy into a tragedy. As this was all unfurling and I could tell it was, I could feel a grin creeping up the corners of my mouth. The end of the first chapter is a little clichéd but I almost feel like that works to it’s advantage by incorporating those revenge tropes in a fairytale story and creating the standard cliffhanger ending.
Frankly it’s a deliciously evil story, the writing style is very competent, the plot has all those great elements of intrigue and as a revenge story I find it very interesting and will undoubtedly keep a close eye on it in the future.”

Ok here’s the latest chapter straight from proofreading, it’s just the first proofread, still rough as shit but it’s a fun chapter, lots of action and fucked up shit.If you wanna read the full chapter and all previous chapters head on over to my inkitt page and read it for free.

TJ squirmed on the back of the bike trying to lock his pudgy fingers around Sunday’s lithe frame. Fear overpowering his natural inclinations for tact and subtlety.

The engine of the Harley continental coughed and spluttered. It roared like a rambunctious kitten. It was no huge feat for the bikers to catch up to them after finding their dead friend. Their bikes engine noises rolled over the hills like thunder. It sounded like a storm coming that no one could get out of the way of.

TJ looked back and saw only a cloud of smoke and dust. He half expected a haunted pirate ships to emerge from it with jet black sails. Crewed by stop motion skeletons. But as it cleared, only a parade of shiney chrome and black leather remained. A tide of ill fitting pants and boots with lots of buckles on them moving gradually closer.

“Can we out run them?” TJ yelped.

“No” Sunday said without even looking back.

“Then what are we gonna do?”

“This” Sunday said almost whispering. She stopped the bike with a sudden anguished screeching of the continental’s tires.

“What the fuck are you doing?? They’ll kill us!” TJ squealed.

“They might” Sunday said. She propped the bike up with the kickstand and dismounted with the grace of a duchess.

TJ dismounted almost falling as she dismounted first. This brought back horrible memories of riding in a bike seat with his Mom when he was a kid.

“We’ve gotta hide” TJ said breathelessly clinging to one of his sweaty moobs. His sword in his other hand shaking in its cheap faux lacquer sheathe.

“Where?” Sunday said as she took up a batting stance squeezing the grip of the bat in both hands. She took a few practice swings at that mean old air.

TJ looked around a full three sixty and realised they were on the edge of town. They were on an open street with no cover.

“Looks like we’ll have to reason with them” Sunday said. A wry smirk peeling across her face as she walked past TJ with the bat across her shoulder.

The bikers didn’t speed up or slow down, they kept their solid droning pace. They knew there was nowhere for them to run. And the building sounds of the engines would fill the entire town with a primal dread.

They were on them like vultures, two at first, circling, the rest hung back a little to see what they’d do. The bikers were armed with pipes and chains and anything they could get their hands on. They dragged the chains behind their bikes and the scraped the ground with their pipes. Which in a different situation TJ would find pretty cool. It kind of reminded him of the opening scene of Akira. But that was beside the point because they were probably trying to kill him.

Sunday breathed out slowly, closing her eyes, digging her feet into the cold dry tarmac. She squeezed and released the grip of the bat as they circled, laughing and whooping inaudibly.

One of them tore in front of her as the other watched. His tires screeched in pain as they turned to face her head on but she didn’t move. He charged screaming for her but she remained still. He raised his pipe above his head as he angled his bike to give him a good swing. With an instant ferocious finesse, she stepped forward into the arch of his strike. Sinking her bat straight across his chest he bounced off his bike. The bike came to a stop scraping along the concrete.

Sunday breathed in calmly closing her eyes again. Squeezing and releasing the handle of the bat as it hummed in her hands. Sending shivers of pain all through her arms and down her back.

Sunday wasn’t paying attention. She picked up the other bikers discarded pipe without looking at him as he circled back to strafe her.

She looked it over, as he closed the distance. Tears and snot streamed from his eyes, rage pounding on the accelerator.

She idly tossed the pipe and the biker was too angry to notice it fall right in his path of destruction. By the time he wiped the snot out of his face it was too late. He ran over the mangled pipe and it got caught up in the front tire. The front wheel twisted bringing the bike veering to one side and down into the concrete. It squealed to a stop and Sunday walked towards the downed biker. The bike stopped a good few feet away from where she was already standing.

He was pinned under the bike. Both of his legs broken for sure, coughing up blood, screaming “You bitch, you fucking bitch!”

She was slower for some reason, she dragged the bat now with one hand squeezed her arm with her other hand. She brought the bat up and split his head effortless. It made a mundane wet imploding noise like a watermelon dropped on concrete. His mouth went slack and his eyes rolled back in his head. She pulled the spiked monstrosity out of his head with a soggy sucking noise.

Then silence, a slow deafening silence. Then a thunderous clap breaking the silence apart like thor’s hammer on the clouds. A man on an enormous bucket seat Harley sat as if on a throne watching. Surrounded by his cronies, a fine looking biker chick on the back of his bike clinging to him. He slowly clapped with his huge gloved hands.

“That was cute, I really dug that” He said as he leaned forward across his custom handlebars. There was a cobra design on the front of his bike and his breaks and clutch were ornate snake heads with a brass finish. “Oh you’re finished, allow me to introduce myself” the man said as he stroked his fu Manchu moustache. A large latin man with tattoos covering most if not all his arms. He was adorned with mayan tribal art mixed with a tinge of Japanese rip offs. He wore a loosely cut denim waist coat the back of which was emblazoned with their insignia. An angel in a straight jacket with the words ‘los ángeles locos’ written below it. Completed by a pair dark red leather pants and agressive looking combat boots.

“My name is Mojang, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” before he finished talking the bikes fired up again. Before she knew it Sunday was surrounded by ten maybe twelve bikers. Clouds of smoke encircled her, a maelstrom of twisted metal surrounded her. Her hair sweeping across her face. She raised he bat with a bitter defiance ready to swing at the next one that came close. She hoped to take them one at a time like balls in a batting cage.

If you enjoyed this excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest for free.

Ok well I was sort of taking the piss, bit of a satire on how this show was heralded as the coming of hipster Jesus by lots of feminist and ‘progressive’ sites just because… baginabaginabagina!

Yeah the main character has a, as noted professional feminist Clementine Ford likes to say “Shame cave”. But luckily this review won’t really dwell on that too long because there’s actually a lot wrong with it that has nothing to do with misogyny and a lot right with it that has nothing to do with feminism. So with that little bullshit footnote out of the way, we can actually talk about Jessica Jones.

I know I’m a little late to the party on this one, but what’s new? And with the news of a second season on the horizon I thought it was better late than never to review the first season.
My girlfriend sort of forced this on me for some reason, not that I don’t love watching stuff with her, but she seemed oddly forceful with this and being the contrarian cunt I am. I always make things difficult and when someone wants me to do something, I first try and get out of it, I don’t why, I’m just an asshole.
So this started a little fight and of course I gave in and we watched it, I like a petulant child trying to pick apart everything from the ‘edgy’ intro where Jessica is all ‘kewl’ doing a monologue from the weird porn music this show has for a title sequence. Which of course turned into another mini spat and after much apologizing from me, we tried to watch it again and shock horror I actually started to enjoy it. It was a painful experience.
I didn’t like the character of Jessica, I just think the person who played her (can’t be arsed to google her name) was too waify (No waify, not waifu, it means like thin or slender) and elflike and too much of a ‘pretty girl’ to be believable as this bad ass detective semi-superhero who answers the phone on the toilet and drinks all the booze, such edge, much noir.
So instantly I was put off because it just seemed to be trying too hard to push the noir buttons and it felt a little forced and none of the characters really seemed to resonate with me. I found Jessica bitchy and annoying, Trish I found insanely consistently annoying, her neighbours are a scale of annoying all on their own. I was surprised Simpson even stayed as a character because he was hollow as a character in my opinion and annoying. Her boss is also bitchy and annoying but probably also one of the most interesting characters. Luke Cage is kind of boring and it’s annoying he doesn’t get more screen time.

But…
Throughout, as I find myself desperately trying to give a shit about any of these characters, a purple spectre looms over them and it’s almost too delicious to ignore.
The show starts off a little lame, Jessica just drinking herself to death for reasons… that become clearer later on. She is trying to get over some traumatic event kept hidden from the audience and trying to assuage a guilty conscience by using her super powers to help people in need and make enough money to buy cheap booze I guess and fix her fucking door!
Seriously, her door is broken at the start and there’s this running gag that drives me nuts where she keeps trying to get it fixed and she either fucks it up while it’s being fixed or breaks it again. And to my girlfriends delight, I found this niggling and incredibly ANNOYING just to have it fixed off screen and the running gag dropped like it never happened. Way to stick it in and break it off Jessica Jones, from me and every other person with tinges of OCD; fuck you!

Ok now that I got that out of the way, I thought the cases and the premise were a little thin, because rather than following the sort of ‘freak of the week’ style made popular by Buffy and supernatural, where something new happens or a new character is introduced every episode. It’s instead almost like an episodic film with the story told more like the wire or a TV show of that nature, which I’m definitely glad they went with because the actual villain had the strength to carry the whole show.

Now finally, getting to the best part, been twisting my legs in fangirlish expectation trying not to squirt all over my laptop. Let’s just say the main villain is boss, like I haven’t loved a villain this much since Sylar from the once great but now utterly shit heroes.
I sneer at your Loki, I laugh at your Ultron and I will without a doubt piss myself when I finally see Ivan Ooze the remake haha.
Purpleman, or Kilgrave in the show because he’s not actually purple in the show because… well that would silly and I doubt David Tennant would want to be painted purple just to stay true to a fucking comic, this isn’t Buffy, no one cares, it would have been dumb. If David Tennant had come out covered in purple paint the whole dark brooding ‘take me serious daddy’ noir elements they were gently coaxing up to that point would have been smashed into a million pieces.
So no he’s not purple and I haven’t read the comics, but I actually might just for Kilgrave, he’s that awesome. If just for Tennant’s performance, you can really tell he’s enjoying every minute of this roll and it adds so much to that playful devilish smile he has.

Kilgrave has the power to control people’s minds, any order he gives, you have to carry out, it’s a little like professor x but he can’t read minds. Which adds this odd dichotomy where he can control people but he never really knows whether they want to do what they’re doing or not. And to add an extra level of fuckery, the people he controls are completely aware when he’s controlling them. So it has this added trauma of feeling completely powerless, having no control over your actions but being completely aware of how powerless you are at the same time. Like a night terror or sleep apnoea. Oh fuck this is already too long.

Needless to say Tennant made the show for me, his boyish charm mixed with the amoral sadism of Kilgrave just appealed to my inner shitlord. All the other characters I could have taken or left and even my girlfriend who is much more easy going than me, was incredibly annoyed by the irrelevance of some of the side characters. Literally almost shaking her fist at some of the scenes like; ‘why is this happening? Why is this important?’. It’s a great show but it has a lot of fluff and Kilgrave is a great villain but he could have been used a little sparingly. And *SPOILERS START* He could have been killed off in a much more interesting way or not at all if they had intended to make a second series from the get go, which I’m not sure was the case. I felt that the writing was kind of poor, not so much the dialogue but just, how some of the characters were dumb for reasons at some points like Kilgrave at his death, when up til that point he’d proved himself very competent at not dying. I just don’t see much of a case for a season two now the main character is killed in such a non-ambiguous way. It’s like these people have never read a fucking comic book, if you’re gonna kill your best main villain and possibly make a second season you might want to make his death a little more ambiguous, maybe blow him up or have him fall off a waterfall, not break his fucking neck with your bare hands, come on. *SPOILERS CEASE*.

Ok now to the gamergate stuff;

IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH GAMERGATE!

It’s just amazing that they let people make such spurious bullshit claims and call it journalism. Just injecting your own bullshit narrative into your favourite show and calling it an article and not a sad attempt at propaganda is…sad. I refuse to link people to anything written by a social justice wanker, no more clicks for them, they’re on a low click diet. But whether you agree with gamergate or not (Which I do, so fuck you if you don’t) trying to project your own narrative into something that literally makes no assertions one way or the other is ridiculous. I mean are these people so immune to fun that they have to make everything about their agenda? They can’t just watch a fucking tv show without wanting to push their bullshit into it?
To say Jessica Jones someone who is essentially fighting a war against her rapist who can also control minds is anything to do with a consumer movement about ethics in games journalism (of which the article I’m talking about is written by one of the journalists brought into question) is ludicrous.

But people love simple explanations to complex issues, they always have and they always will; “Gamergate is just an evil white cis het misogynist man child that wears purple and just wants to get it’s way and rape all d wimmens hurhurhur horkhorkhork!” – Fuck off.

Got a nice review from a really nice guy on Inkitt I did a review or, a little nepotism never hurt anyone haha. I mean it’s not great getting these back scratching reviews but it’s better than nothing.
So check it out and if you want to read Green Sunday you know where to go. http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507

I don't want to put too many spoilers in this but here it goes.
I love the story so far. You have done an excellent job at building tension and mystery pertaining to what is going on in the story. True its a zombie story but its light years beyond an average one. Its obvious that something dark and sinister is taking place behind the scenes that seems far worse than your average toxic chemical spill or passing meteor. Its so nice to get a refreshing taste of the zombie genre. The relationship between Tj and Sunday is perfectly written so far. Him with that bumbling never touched a woman quality, and her with a brooding level of confidence that would shake the most steady of men. You have been able to convey the tough girl in a believe none heartless @#&% sort of way. I also like how you where able to capture the essence of the pseudo-zombie apocalypse experts in Zed and his gang. I loved that to my very core. I have to agree with you that we do write very similar to one another. I admire it when someone does what I do and throws their passions into their writing despite who might find it offensive, But I also have a feeling that we could have quite a long rant together about things that piss us off in the world. Now I guess I will tell you what you already know, as you are working on getting your chapters professionally edited, the later chapters are simply longer than the should be by an editors standards. Let me be clear I still love them... They are great... But often times editors often strip things down quite a bit. Good writing and please keep it up I can't wait to read the rest.